


Off Track

by meat



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Consensual Sex, Kinktober, M/M, Painful Sex, Porntober, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-05 15:56:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12193038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meat/pseuds/meat
Summary: Prowl and Methosulas are young, dumb, and eager to get off. One of them more so than the other.





	Off Track

"Whenever you're ready." Methosulas' voice was like honey. One of his hands is run down the curve of Prowl's back, managing to still make Prowl shudder despite just how intensely he could feel Methosulas' own shaking. It wasn't the same flustered shake that Prowl felt running through his frame, no, he knew that much. It was something different. Prowl smiled, though Methosulas couldn't see it from behind Prowl. He almost thought about turning around to show him, but it seemed a little over-the-top; while a genuine smile from Prowl had grown exceedingly rare lately, and he knew that Methosulas would have greatly appreciated seeing it, Prowl was a little bit busy.

Sloppy make-outs against the walls of Methosulas' fortress could only get them both so far, after all.

Prowl stretched, limbering up. He knew the answer before he asked. "Are you nervous?"

"Not at all."

He didn't have the patience to respond to Methosulas, maybe making a joke about how obvious of a lie his response had been. Prowl raised himself up to the tallest height possible, stretching his arms over his head while he stood on his tip-toes, and then dropping back down. He took a few steps forwards, and then, he lowered himself to his knees. Methosulas' hand returned to his back, and Prowl allowed it to guide him down, into a forwards-bent, prone position. There was noise from behind him: a gently whispered 'so good like this', and then a much less gentle noise. Prowl shuddered, and the hand returned to his back once again.

"Just relax."

"It's kind of hard to, when-" Prowl started to snap at Methosulas, but as Methosulas' hand moved lower, he trailed off.

Methosulas rubbed at Prowl's panel, in the crook of his thighs. The panel slid back to expose Prowl's not-quite-hard-yet spike, and respectively, a not-quite-wet-yet valve. Methosulas could deal with both easily, but only one was really important right now. Methosulas' creation whirred behind them both as the inventor slid one finger into Prowl's valve. There was resistance, but of course there was; they  _could_ have used lubrication, but the valve's natural lubrication would probably be enough, here. Or at least, that's what he assumed. Just in case, though, Methosulas murmured a quick 'stop', and stepped back to find wherever he had actually left the lube at. He eventually found it, rubbed a bit on the end of the machine, and then once again took a step back. Methosulas flipped the switch at the side of the machine. Prowl whimpered.

"Stay relaxed. Just stay relaxed." To his credit, Prowl managed to relax for a good few seconds

Then, the noise that punctuated the space between them couldn't be put to words. Prowl arced forwards, feeling the effects of the machine's tip being shoved into him too quickly and without warning. His fists clenched and slammed into the floor with a sense of primal urgency, but still, he couldn't put into words what he needed from Methosulas. Prowl shook; the machine shook harder. Prowl wanted to scream out some kind of comment about how he wasn't sure if this was safe, but all he managed was a squeak and another bang of his fists. Methosulas took that as a good sign.

" _Meh_ -" Prowl started and then stopped to say something. It felt- ok, maybe not good, but he was getting something out of it. Methosulas was definitely the better off in the situation, and even in his bliss(...? Is that what he'd call it? He wasn't sure), Prowl was able to tell that. Again, unfortunately, he couldn't put that feeling to words.

Methosulas turned the machine up; Prowl slammed both fists down to the floor. He slammed them down, again and again, arcing his body further and further inwards as Methosulas watched him. It went on like that for awhile, both getting an unspecific 'something' out of the situation without really being able to mentally or verbally put that 'something' to substance. Then, in what might have been called an act of vanity if Prowl had had the words to express it, Methosulas turned the machine up again. There was no banging of fists and there was no aborted half-words of urging-slash-willing-Methosulas-to-stop, mostly because it had  _already_ stopped- whether or not either of them really wanted it to. Really, the only similarity this time was the continuing lack of words from Prowl, and the short, sweet statements from Methosulas.

As Prowl tenderly adjusted himself, Methosulas stepped closer.

"Is it stuck?"

Prowl made a guttural noise in response.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Porntober fill, day 1: Sex Machine**  
>  This one was sort of a warm-up to get into the mood for writing. This one is really...not my favorite. The others will hopefully be sexier, and, uh...better.


End file.
